Hundreds of additional titles available for
online reading when you join Gateway to the Classics

A Legend of Knockmany

[156]

HAT Irish man, woman, or child has not heard of our renowned
Hibernian Hercules, the great and glorious Fin M'Coul? Not
one, from Cape Clear to the Giant's Causeway, nor from that
back again to Cape Clear. And, by-the-way, speaking of the
Giant's Causeway brings me at once to the beginning of my
story. Well, it so happened that Fin and his men were all
working at the Causeway, in order to make a bridge across to
Scotland; when Fin, who was very fond of his wife Oonagh,
took it into his head that he would go home and see how the
poor woman got on in his absence. So, accordingly, he pulled
up a fir-tree, and, after lopping off the roots and
branches, made a walking-stick of it, and set out on his way
to Oonagh.

Oonagh, or rather Fin, lived at this time on the very
tip-top of Knockmany Hill, which faces a cousin of its own
called Cullamore, that rises up, half-hill, half-mountain,
on the opposite side.

There was at that time another giant, named
Cucullin—some
say he was Irish, and some say he was
Scotch—but
[157] whether
Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a targer. No
other giant of the day could stand before him; and such was
his strength, that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp
that shook the country about him. The fame and name of him
went far and near; and nothing in the shape of a man, it was
said, had any chance with him in a fight. By one blow of his
fists he flattened a thunderbolt and kept it in his pocket,
in the shape of a pancake, to show to all his enemies, when
they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every
giant in Ireland a considerable beating, barring Fin M'Coul
himself; and he swore that he would never rest, night or
day, winter or summer, till he would serve Fin with the same
sauce, if he could catch him. However, the short and long of
it was, with reverence be it spoken, that Fin heard Cucullin
was coming to the Causeway to have a trial of strength with
him; and he was seized with a very warm and sudden fit of
affection for his wife, poor woman, leading a very lonely,
uncomfortable life of it in his absence. He accordingly
pulled up the fir-tree, as I said before, and having snedded
it into a walking-stick, set out on his travels to see his
darling Oonagh on the top of Knockmany, by the way.

In truth, the people wondered very much why it was that Fin
selected such a windy spot for his dwelling-house, and they
even went so far as to tell him as much.

"What can you mane, Mr. M'Coul," said they, "by pitching
your tent upon the top of Knockmany, where you never are
without a breeze, day or night, winter or summer, and where
you're often forced to take your nightcap without either
going to bed or turning up your little finger; ay, an'
[158] where, besides this, there's the sorrow's own want of
water?"

"Why," said Fin, "ever since I was the height of a round
tower, I was known to be fond of having a good prospect of
my own; and where the dickens, neighbours, could I find a
better spot for a good prospect than the top of Knockmany?
As for water, I am sinking a pump, and, plase goodness, as
soon as the Causeway's made, I intend to finish it."

Now, this was more of Fin's philosophy; for the real state
of the case was, that he pitched upon the top of Knockmany
in order that he might be able to see Cucullin coming
towards the house. All we have to say is, that if he wanted
a spot from which to keep a sharp look-out—and, between
ourselves, he did want it grievously—barring Slieve Croob,
or Slieve Donard, or its own cousin, Cullamore, he could not
find a neater or more convenient situation for it in the
sweet and sagacious province of Ulster.

"God save all here!" said Fin, good-humouredly, on putting
his honest face into his own door.

"Musha, Fin, avick, an' you're welcome home to your own
Oonagh, you darlin' bully." Here followed a smack that is
said to have made the waters of the lake at the bottom of
the hill curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy.

Fin spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt
himself very comfortable, considering the dread he had of
Cucullin. This, however, grew upon him so much that his wife
could not but perceive something lay on his mind which he
kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone, in the
meantime, for ferreting or wheedling a secret
[159] out of her
good man, when she wishes. Fin was a proof of this.

"It's this Cucullin," said he, "that's troubling me. When
the fellow gets angry, and begins to stamp, he'll shake you
a whole townland; and it's well known that he can stop a
thunderbolt, for he always carries one about him in the
shape of a pancake, to show to any one that might misdoubt
it."

As he spoke, he clapped his thumb in his mouth, which he
always did when he wanted to prophesy, or to know anything
that happened in his absence; and the wife asked him what he
did it for.

"He's coming," said Fin; "I see him below Dungannon."

"Thank goodness, dear! an' who is it, avick? Glory be to
God!"

"That baste, Cucullin," replied Fin; "and how to manage I
don't know. If I run away, I am disgraced; and I know that
sooner or later I must meet him, for my thumb tells me so."

"When will he be here?" said she.

"Tomorrow, about two o'clock," replied Fin, with a groan.

"Well, my bully, don't be cast down," said Oonagh; "depend
on me, and maybe I'll bring you better out of this scrape
than ever you could bring yourself, by your rule o' thumb."

She then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after
which she put her finger in her mouth, and gave three
whistles and by that Cucullin knew he was invited to
Cullamore—for this was the way that the Irish long ago
gave a
[160] sign to all strangers and travellers, to let them
know they were welcome to come and take share of whatever
was going.

In the meantime, Fin was very melancholy, and did not know
what to do, or how to act at all. Cucullin was an ugly
customer to meet with; and, the idea of the "cake"
aforesaid flattened the very heart within him. What chance
could he have, strong and brave though he was, with a man
who could, when put in a passion, walk the country into
earthquakes and knock thunderbolts into pancakes? Fin knew
not on what hand to turn him. Right or left—backward or
forward—where to go he could form no guess whatsoever.

"Oonagh," said he, "can you do nothing for me? Where's all
your invention? Am I to be skivered like a rabbit before
your eyes, and to have my name disgraced for ever in the
sight of all my tribe, and me the best man among them? How
am I to fight this man-mountain—this huge cross between an
earthquake and a thunderbolt?—with a pancake in his pocket
that was once——"

"Be easy, Fin," replied Oonagh; "troth, I'm ashamed of you.
Keep your toe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes,
maybe, we'll give him as good as any
he brings with him—thunderbolt or otherwise.
If I don't treat him to as smart
feeding as he's got this many a day, never trust Oonagh
again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid you."

This relieved Fin very much; for, after all, he had great
confidence in his wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got
him out of many a quandary before. Oonagh then drew the nine
woollen threads of different colours, which she
[161] always did
to find out the best way of succeeding in anything of
importance she went about. She then platted them into three
plats with three colours in each, putting one on her right
arm, one round her heart, and the third round her right
ankle, for then she knew that nothing could fail with her
that she undertook.

Having everything now prepared, she sent round to the
neighbours and borrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, which
she took and kneaded into the hearts of one-and-twenty cakes
of bread, and these she baked on the fire in the usual way,
setting them aside in the cupboard according as they were
done. She then put down a large pot of new milk, which she
made into curds and whey. Having done all this, she sat down
quite contented, waiting for his arrival on the next day
about two o'clock, that being the hour at which he was
expected—for Fin knew as much by the sucking of his thumb.
Now this was a curious property that Fin's thumb had. In
this very thing, moreover, he was very much resembled by his
great foe, Cucullin; for as well known that the huge
strength he possessed all lay in the middle finger of his
right hand, and that, if he happened by any mischance to
lose it, he was no more, for all his bulk, than a common
man.

At length, the next day, Cucullin was seen coming across the
valley, and Oonagh knew that it was time to commence
operations. She immediately brought the cradle, and made Fin
to lie down in it, and cover himself up with the clothes.

"You must pass for your own child," said she; "so just lie
there snug, and say nothing, but be guided by me."

[162] About two o'clock, as he had been expected, Cucullin came
in. "God save all here!" said he; "is this where the great
Fin M'Coul lives?"

"I am," said she; "and I have no reason, I hope, to be
ashamed of my husband."

"No," said the other, "he has the name of being the
strongest and bravest man in Ireland; but for all that,
there's a man not far from you that's very desirous of
taking a shake with him. Is he at home?"

"Why, then, no," she replied; "and if ever a man left his
house in a fury, he did. It appears that some one told him
of a big basthoon of a giant called Cucullin being down at
the Causeway to look for him, and so he set out there to try
if he could catch him. Troth, I hope, for the poor giant's
sake, he won't meet with him, for if he does, Fin will make
paste of him at once."

"Well," said the other, "I am Cucullin, and I have been
seeking him these twelve months, but he always kept clear of
me; and I will never rest night or day till I lay my hands
on him."

At this Oonagh set up a loud laugh, of great contempt,
by-the-way, and looked at him as if he was only a mere
handful of a man.

"Did you ever see Fin?" said she, changing her manner all at
once.

"How could I?" said he; "he always took care to keep his
distance."

[163] "I thought so," she replied; "I judged as much; and if you
take my advice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray night
and day that you may never see him, for I tell you it will
be a black day for you when you do. But, in the meantime,
you perceive that the wind's on the door, and as Fin himself
is from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to turn the house,
for it's always what Fin does when he's here."

This was a startler even to Cucullin; but he got up,
however, and after pulling the middle finger of his right
hand until it cracked three times, he went outside, and
getting his arms about the house, turned it as she had
wished. When Fin saw this, he felt the sweat of fear oozing
out through every pore of his skin; but Oonagh, depending
upon her woman's wit, felt not a whit daunted.

"Arrah, then," said she, "as you are so civil, maybe you'd
do another obliging turn for us, as Fin's not here to do it
himself. You see, after this long stretch of dry weather
we've had, we feel very badly off for want of water. Now,
Fin says there's a fine spring-well somewhere under the
rocks behind the hill here below, and it was his intention
to pull them asunder; but having heard of you, he left the
place in such a fury, that he never thought of it. Now, if
you try to find it, troth I'd feel it a kindness."

She then brought Cucullin down to see the place, which was
then all one solid rock; and, after looking at it for some
time, he cracked his right middle finger nine times, and,
stooping down, tore a cleft about four hundred feet deep,
and a quarter of a mile in length, which has since been
christened by the name of Lumford's Glen.

"You'll now come in," said she, "and eat a bit of such
[164] humble fare as we can give you. Fin, even although he and
you are enemies, would scorn not to treat you kindly in his
own house; and, indeed, if I didn't do it even in his
absence, he would not be pleased with me."

She accordingly brought him in, and placing half-a-dozen of
the cakes we spoke of before him, together with a can or two
of butter, a side of boiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage,
she desired him to help himself—for this, be it known, was
long before the invention of potatoes. Cucullin put one of
the cakes in his mouth to take a huge whack out of it, when
he made a thundering noise, something between a growl and a
yell. "Blood and fury!" he shouted; "how is this? Here are
two of my teeth out! What kind of bread this is you gave
me."

"What's the matter?" said Qonagh coolly.

"Matter!" shouted the other again; "why, here are the two
best teeth in my head gone."

"Why," said she, "that's Fin's bread—the only bread he
ever eats when at home; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you
that nobody can eat it but himself, and that child in the
cradle there. I thought, however, that, as you were reported
to be rather a stout little fellow of your size, you might
be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man
that thinks himself able to fight Fin. Here's another
cake—maybe it's not so hard as that."

Cucullin at the moment was not only hungry, but ravenous, so
he accordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and
immediately another yell was heard twice as loud as the
first. "Thunder and gibbets!" he roared, "take your bread
out of this, or I will not have a tooth in my head; there's
another pair of them gone!"

[165] "Well, honest man," replied Oonagh, "if you're not able to
eat the bread, say so quietly, and don't be wakening the
child in the cradle there. There, now, he's awake upon me."

Fin now gave a skirl that startled the giant, as coming from
such a youngster as he was supposed to be.
"Mother" said he, "I'm hungry—get me something to eat."
Oonagh went over, and putting into his hand a cake that had
no griddle in it, Fin, whose appetite in the meantime had
been sharpened by seeing eating going forward, soon
swallowed it. Cucullin was thunderstruck, and secretly
thanked his stars that he had the good fortune to miss
meeting Fin, for, as he said to himself, "I'd have no chance
with a man who could eat such bread as that, which even
[166] his son that's but in his cradle can munch before my eyes."

"I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle," said
he to Oonagh; "for I can tell you that the infant who can
manage that nutriment is no joke to look at or to feed of a
scarce summer."

"With all the veins of my heart," replied Oonagh; "get up,
acushla, and show this decent little man something that
won't be unworthy of your father, Fin M'Coul."

Fin, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as
possible, got up, and bringing Cucullin out, "Are you
strong?" said he.

"Thunder an' ounds!" exclaimed the other, "what a voice in
so small a chap!"

"Are you strong?" said Fin again; "are you able to squeeze
water out of that white stone?" he asked, putting one into
Cucullin's hand. The latter squeezed and squeezed the stone,
but in vain.

"Ah, you're a poor creature!" said Fin. "You a giant! Give
me the stone here, and when I'll show what Fin's little son
can do, you may then judge of what my daddy himself is."

Fin then took the stone, and exchanging it for the curds, he
squeezed the latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed
out in a little shower from his hand.

"I'll now go in," said he, "to my cradle; for I scorn to
lose my time with any one that's not able to eat my daddy's
bread, or squeeze water out of a stone. Bedad, you had
better be off out of this before he comes back; for if he
catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in two minutes."

[167] Cucullin, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion
himself; his knees knocked together with the terror of Fin's
return, and he accordingly hastened to bid Oonagh farewell,
and to assure her, that from that day out, he never wished
to hear of, much less to see, her husband.
"I admit fairly that I'm not a match for him," said he,
strong as I am; tell him I will avoid him as I would the
plague, and that I will make myself scarce in this part of
the country while I live."

Fin, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay
very quietly, his heart at his mouth with delight that
Cucullin was about to take his departure, without
discovering the tricks that had been played off on him.

"It's well for you," said Oonagh, "that he doesn't happen to
be here, for it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of you."

"I know that," says Cucullin; "divil a thing else he'd make
of me; but before I go, will you let me feel what kind of
teeth Fin's lad has got that can eat griddle-bread like
that?"

"With all pleasure in life," said she; "only, as they're
far back in his head, you must put your finger a good way
in."

Cucullin was surprised to find such a powerful set of
grinders in one so young; but he was still much more so on
finding, when he took his hand from Fin's mouth, that he had
left the very finger upon which his whole strength depended,
behind him. He gave one loud groan, and fell down at once
with terror and weakness. This was all Fin wanted, who now
knew that his most powerful and bitterest enemy was at his
mercy. He started out of the cradle, and
[168] in a few minutes
the great Cucullin, that was for such a length of time the
terror of him and all his followers, lay a corpse before
him. Thus did Fin, through the wit and invention of Oonagh,
his wife, succeed in overcoming his enemy by cunning, which
he never could have done by force.